father ox

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
this concerns some of the priests who take advantage of the ladies in distress and claim to offer more than just prayers1

Submitted: December 16, 2012

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Submitted: December 16, 2012

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Albeit, he’s quintessence of Paul,

His cassock blots his evils,

Planting season, not a thing,

The rain, people’s faith,

Fertilizer, their prayers.

Himself he moulds an ox,

Under the heavy yoke crucifix.

He pulls the bible plough,

To prepare the church fields

And plants his congregation.

A holy course he pursues.

 

Crops trouble in the cowshed,

His polite pretence clouds the farmer,

Respect of his food the ox he gives,

Nosy bulls have scars by his horns and

Lovely heifers carry calves in their wombs,

Trouble; flowerless tree with fruits

A questionable claim on his holiness,

If you can’t,

Like me don’t live,

Says Paul.


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